TYSUF – Chapter 8 Lost in the Play (2)

Shen Xi got into the back seat of the Packard. Dr. Tan first closed the car door for her before turning back to shut the apartment’s front gate.

Now, only he and Fu Tongwen remained at the entrance.

Fu Tongwen had anticipated that he had something to say, so he took a step back, retreating under the eaves to avoid the rain.

It was three in the morning, yet there was still someone crouching by the roadside selling cigarettes.

“How could you bring her back to the country?” The lighthearted conversation inside the apartment earlier had been just a facade. This was what Dr. Tan truly wanted to say. “Didn’t we agree back then? Send her abroad and never bring her back? She would have a life of comfort, living like an aristocrat—wasn’t that the future you had planned for her?”

Fu Tongwen said nothing, merely gesturing toward the cigarette vendor.

“Thirty cents for a hundred, sir,” the woman said, handing him the pack.

Fu Tongwen paid and shoved the cigarettes into Dr. Tan’s hand.

“You see, I never forced you to quit smoking, even though I hate tobacco.” Without needing anyone to point it out, Fu Tongwen already knew—he was creating a massive problem for himself. “She has her own aspirations. I have no right to take them away from her.”

Three years ago, when the car took Shen Xi to the docks, they had both been there, watching from a distance as she boarded the ship. Sending Shen Xi to America had been a mutual decision between them. But just moments ago, in that apartment, he had overturned their plan.

Tan Qingxiang was only looking out for him. He shouldn’t be seeing Shen Xi again, let alone bringing her back to the country.

Dr. Tan, seeing that Fu Tongwen remained silent, lit a cigarette. After taking two deep drags, he continued earnestly, “Send her to California. If you insist, she will listen. You’re just one step away from completing what you set out to do. Keeping her in America is the right choice.”

Fu Tongwen didn’t respond. He plucked the cigarette from Dr. Tan’s fingers, placed it between his lips, and took a slow drag. The ember flickered as he inhaled.

In his pupils, the streetlights reflected—a bright yet emotionless glow, mirroring the torrential New York rain.

He exhaled a plume of smoke.

“And this is what gets you addicted?” He flicked the cigarette into a puddle by the roadside. “Weak will.”

That was his way of ending the conversation—non-negotiable.

Before long, both Fu Tongwen and Dr. Tan got into the car.

Since it was still dark, the car took them to a small, low-roofed factory first.

Inside, four rows of sewing machines were arranged in narrow aisles, with discarded cotton threads scattered across the floor.

“The women workers haven’t been here for three days,” the driver said in heavily accented English. “There’s a DuPont factory ten kilometers from here, making ammunition. They pay more. Everyone has gone there. So you can rest here safely until dawn. Then we’ll head to the docks.”

With that, the driver returned to the car.

Dr. Tan sat for a while before stepping outside to smoke, leaving only Shen Xi and Fu Tongwen inside.

“Do you know how?” Fu Tongwen sat down on a stool, pressing the sewing machine pedal twice.

“I’ve never used one,” Shen Xi admitted.

She never had the chance to see such a rare machine in China, nor the time to study it in America.

“Try it,” Fu Tongwen said, vacating the stool for her.

Shen Xi sat down.

He rested his right hand on the table’s edge, examining the machine.

“If you press the wooden pedal, it’ll start on its own. But we’ll need some fabric.”

Both of them looked around at the same time—there was none.

Fu Tongwen glanced at his suit. An idea formed.

Without hesitation, he took it off, turned it inside out, and placed it under the needle.

“Go ahead.”

Shen Xi pulled out the lining of the suit and carefully fed it under the machine. “Like this?” she asked, motioning with her toe.

“I suppose so.”

Shen Xi was surprised. “You suppose?”

Fu Tongwen smiled. “Did you think I’ve used one before?”

“Well… no,” she admitted, awkwardly tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and focusing on the sewing machine.

His pale, slender face was close to hers, watching her test out this “toy.” His breath lightly brushed against her cheek—sometimes soft, sometimes heavier. Shen Xi hesitated for a moment, recalling that night in the cinema, where the darkness had felt just like this.

“Afraid you’ll break it?” Fu Tongwen asked softly when she didn’t move.

Shen Xi shook her head slightly, gathering her thoughts. She gently pressed the pedal. The needle caught the suit lining, pulling it from her hands. She carefully stopped and leaned in to examine the stitches—neat, precise. A fine machine indeed.

Fu Tongwen reached over, his fingers brushing past her line of sight as he touched the stitches. “Not bad.”

“Mm.” Her thoughts wandered.

His hands were right in front of her, his nails neatly trimmed—long, straight.

It reminded her of something she had once overheard from the maids at the Fu residence. They had gossiped about how, in his younger years, Third Master had always had his nails trimmed by the maids. Every time a young maid performed this task, she would return blushing, recounting their conversation in hushed excitement.

Later, for some reason, Fu Tongwen had learned of these whispered exchanges. From then on, no maid ever touched his hands again, and all his attendants were replaced with male servants.

“Third Master may be a flirt, but he’s the highest class of flirt—he would never take advantage of the servants.” The maid had spoken with an odd phrasing, a product of her limited education.

But Shen Xi understood what she meant.

“You know how much this costs in Beijing?” Fu Tongwen patted the sewing machine. “Forty to fifty silver taels.”

She guessed, “Are you thinking of getting into this business too?”

Fu Tongwen didn’t deny it. He smiled, a hint of self-mockery in his tone. “I want to do everything.”

“Even this?” He pulled the fountain pen from his suit pocket, turning it in the light. The small object seemed to fill him with endless thoughts. “The British started making these over a hundred years ago, but we still haven’t learned how. That was… the Jiaqing era?”

“Yes.”

A hundred years—Jiaqing, Daoguang, Xianfeng, Tongzhi, Guangxu, Xuantong—six emperors.

When measured like that, the weight of time felt even heavier.

Shen Xi tried to comfort him. “Everything is made by people. We’re all learning.”

“The future of China is in your generation’s hands.” Fu Tongwen smiled, pulling off the loose thread from his suit before putting it back on. “I’m going out for some air.”

He was only ten years older than her, yet he spoke with the tone of an old man.

Shen Xi watched as he left the factory, his shadow stretching long across the ground before disappearing beyond the iron gate.

By the time dawn arrived, he still hadn’t come back.

At 9:30 AM, they reached the dock. The heavy rain had not ceased.

She had left China in the rain, and now she was returning the same way.

But back then, it had been autumn’s cold drizzle. Now, it was spring rain—a better omen, she told herself.

The dock was filled with heartfelt goodbyes—reluctant farewells between families, tearful embraces between lovers. Many women held umbrellas, making the bustling dock even more crowded.

Afraid she would be swept away by the crowd, Fu Tongwen took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. “Hold onto me.”

Shen Xi nodded and clung to his arm. “Where’s Dr. Tan?”

“He’s arranging for the luggage to be brought aboard.”

His relationship with Dr. Tan was truly strange—part classmates, part family physician, part master and servant. Even now, Shen Xi couldn’t quite figure out what exactly they were to each other.

Once they boarded the ship, Fu Tongwen handed over their tickets, and a designated staff member escorted them to their first-class cabin.

His room was a suite.

The luggage was brought in quickly. Shen Xi stood in the sitting area, counting the bags, when she overheard the porters whispering outside the door. They were saying that this Chinese couple was miserly—able to afford the most expensive suite yet without any servants.

Pretending not to hear, she walked to the window and leaned out slightly. “You can see the ocean from here. Much better than when I first came.”

Fu Tongwen chuckled. “Did you get seasick on your way here?”

“It was unbearable.” She shook her head. “I can’t even think about it—just remembering makes me nauseous.”

“Are you complaining that I didn’t arrange things properly for you back then?” he teased.

Shen Xi shook her head again and continued gazing outside.

Once the porters left, Fu Tongwen opened the largest suitcase, pulled out a stack of shirts, and tossed them onto the bed.

Should she help him? Shen Xi hesitated, unsure.

But he didn’t seem to expect her to assist. He quietly sorted his belongings—shirts, vests, suits—hanging them up in the wardrobe one by one. With his back to her, he suddenly said, “There’s something I need to discuss with you.”

So, in the end, he does need help.

Shen Xi smirked to herself and naturally stepped forward. She took the hanger from his hand, picked up a pair of trousers, and draped them over it. “You don’t need to ask—I’ll organize everything for you.”

Fu Tongwen shook his head. “That’s not what I meant.”

“It’s fine.” Shen Xi hung up the trousers. “No need to be polite, Third Brother.”

“It’s not about politeness.” He smiled. “What I need to discuss with you is your living arrangements.”

Shen Xi turned to look at him.

“For the duration of the voyage, you’ll have to stay here with me. There aren’t any single rooms available.” Fu Tongwen’s expression was composed as he glanced at the large bed. “You take the bed, and I’ll—” He thought for a moment before saying, “I’ll figure it out tonight.”

She froze. “There are no rooms left?”

Because he had brought her along at the last minute.

“That’s part of it. But it’s also for your safety.” He paused. “If you’re uncomfortable staying with me… you could share a room with Qingxiang. I suppose his reputation is better than mine.”

Shen Xi blurted out without thinking, “I’m not sleeping with him.”

What nonsense…

A sudden wave of heat surged up her ears.

Fu Tongwen tried to hold back his laughter but failed. “Even if you wanted to, he wouldn’t dare. He’s an honest man.”

He was actually making a joke about this. Shen Xi’s face grew even hotter.

Fu Tongwen was still laughing.

This time, there was an air of amusement, as if he were watching a play. Shen Xi panicked, wondering what exactly she had said that could make him laugh like this.

“You see, you’re not much better than I am,” Fu Tongwen remarked, his gaze fixed on a spot about four meters behind her. “Virtue—whether for you or for me—is a luxury.”

Shen Xi turned around hastily and saw someone standing at the doorway.

“…Dr. Tan.”

“Third Master’s words—just listen and don’t take them seriously,” Tan Qingxiang replied, handling Fu Tongwen with practiced ease.

Fu Tongwen always avoided the heart of the matter, diverting with light words, while Tan preferred to speak plainly. “I’m simply not used to sharing a room with a young woman. But leaving you alone in a room isn’t safe either. Besides, he needs medical attention at night. Miss Shen, I’ll have to trouble you this time.”

Righteous and serious, he spoke as though entrusting her with the care of a patient.

Dr. Tan’s presence made her momentarily embarrassed, but it also eased the awkwardness of the situation.

She had to take care of him, cover for him—sharing a room was the right choice. Shen Xi reassured herself and began discussing the Western medicine Fu Tongwen needed with Dr. Tan. She was given a dual-ear stethoscope, along with syringes and needles as emergency supplies—though hopefully, they wouldn’t be needed. Only now did Shen Xi learn that Dr. Tan specialized in cardiopulmonary medicine. She was surprised.

Dr. Tan chuckled. “Don’t be too shocked. It wasn’t convenient to let you know his condition before.”

She understood his caution.

“And I’ve noticed—you’re curious,” he added. Naturally, that made him even more guarded.

When had he realized her curiosity? Was it when she observed him treating patients at the Fu household? Or later, in New York, when she had tried to see what medicines he was using? Shen Xi had been relieved to see that the medicines weren’t for tuberculosis. Over the years, whenever she thought of Fu Tongwen, she always recalled his constant coughing. He had probably just caught a cold back then.

But now, regret crept in—it was his heart. The very field she had abandoned.

“He had an electrocardiogram done in New York,” Dr. Tan reassured her with a small smile. “There’s no need to worry too much. His condition is stable for now.”

She remembered that procedure. A professor had demonstrated it to them in person. The recording device was placed over a kilometer away, while the patient had to submerge both arms in saline water for the test. But the professor had also mentioned that the version they saw wasn’t the most advanced—there were even better ones.

She wondered whether the device Fu Tongwen had used was the latest model.

Frowning, she regretted not probing further into the topic with her professor. Even if she were given his test results now, she wasn’t sure she could interpret them correctly.

“This isn’t your specialty,” Dr. Tan comforted her. “Don’t overthink it.”

Once the handover between the two doctors was complete, Dr. Tan advised Fu Tongwen to get at least two hours of deep sleep.

After the ship set sail, Shen Xi closed the curtains, ensuring that even the smallest sliver of light was blocked. The room was as dark as midnight.

When she turned back, Fu Tongwen was setting his vest on a nearby chair.

In the darkness, his figure, clad only in a shirt, looked rather frail. “I’ll borrow your bed for now. Tonight… I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“No need, I’ll take the floor,” Shen Xi objected. “If I make you sleep on the floor, I’ll have nightmares about losing my medical ethics.”

“Making a young woman sleep on the floor would mean I can hardly call myself a man,” Fu Tongwen smiled, glancing at her in the darkness. “I’m a Western-educated modern man, after all. Do you really see me as someone who’d do that?”